


Deification

by Lemon (theclumsytool)



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Anal Sex, Creampie, Drunk Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romanticized Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21972499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclumsytool/pseuds/Lemon
Summary: Vincent figures it's kind of unexpected really, but also, not really. Or he finds out realizing he loves someone isn't how the romance movies depicted it.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	Deification

Deification. _n_. the act or instance of deifying, making someone or something out to be a god.

* * *

Vincent was blind to the things developing before his eyes. He was always described as having an innocent sort of nativity, seen as kind of stupid by other people. He understood where they were coming from really, never particularly thinking very highly of himself to begin with. But sometimes Leon would stare at him for a heartbeat too long, his faraway look in his eyes. It was easy to look over sometimes, the dark circles under his eyes so prominent. Vince had watched him gradually go from bad to worse, something he couldn't really miss, not when he'd seen him get those victorious grins on his faces after practice, after breaking his own records.

The knee injury had been the worst thing to happen to Leon, crippling him and jumpstarting his downward spiral. That's when Vincent got to know him best, watched his alcohol tolerance build with every night he spent blackout drinking. He embraced a hypersexual side of himself, another way he used to cope, another method of trying to forget that his future was lost. He was going to be a track star, he was going to be amazing. He lost everything, and he tore himself apart trying to feel anything good again. And Vincent, he had no room to say anything to him, stuck in his own rut of self-toxicity. 

He just watched, tried to stand by him. It wasn't really hard though. He and Leon fed off each other, both bad habits, both poisoning, crippling their bodies. It was an almost impossible thing to escape, especially with neither of them trying very hard. Most nights were spent in Vincent's apartment, the male doubled over the counter, hand fisting a bottle of heavy liquor. Vodka was his favorite that week. Vince would settle on his couch, lower his eyes, carve his skin in light but effective presses of a razor. And he'd feel the weight of his gaze the whole time on nights when Leon decided he wanted to stay instead of seeking out his latest conquest, a needy, desperate one night stand.

But Leon didn't judge him, even sober. Sometimes he liked him a drunk a little more though, a flush riding high on his cheeks. He was more agreeable that way too. Sometimes he'd help steady his hand when Vincent had his moments of struggle, everything feeling a touch too much, more than usual. Sometimes he'd take over himself, hands somehow, impossibly, steady. It was a twisted sort of intimacy, even when all they were was bad ideas feeding each other's flames. But he didn't say anything about his scars, the fresh scabs he spotted when Vincent's sleeves rode a touch too high. And he really appreciated it. 

Vince wasn't stupid to the fact that they were a bad match, was sure that Leon wasn't either. He was too smart not to see it. But he cared even less than Vince did, somehow knew when it was starting to bother him. Because he'd take a long swig straight from the bottle of drink and smile, sickeningly sweet, and he found it impossible to do anything but say yes to whatever the male asked. Even drunk, Leon kept his smooth tongue, unhindered in speech if not a touch slurred. He knew what to say as if he already had everything planned out. At most, when wasted, he became overbearing, clingy and intruding on personal space. But he didn't think anything of it for the most part.

Until one day Leon is sitting on his couch, tucked too close to his body. The heat of his skin is almost feverish, hot and suffocating. He swirls the liquid of his bottle idly, goes, "I have an idea.", tucks his chin against his chest and looks at him with those alluring eyes. His lashes are a touch too long, brush his cheeks when he blinks real slow. They're green, a really nice shade of olive. He's pretty, far too pretty, but somehow he's not really vain. Vincent is sure he must be aware of it though, probably uses it to get people into his bed. He tries not to think about it.

He ignored the feeling that bubbles up, meets his stare. "What is it?" Leon's expression turns devious, lips tilting. Then he takes a long swig of his drink, cups the back of Vincent's neck, and drags him into a kiss. It's messy and open. A bitter tang is shared between their parted lips, some of it slips over his chin, drips against the collar of his shirt. He doesn't really drink like Leon, but he thinks he could get drunk just off the taste of him. It's addictive. 

When they part, Leon is in his lap. They're still close enough that he can feel his breath, smell the alcohol on it. One arm is lazily draped around his shoulder, loosely holding the bottle and its contents. The other is tangled up in his hair, thumb idly shifting over the line between his overgrown undercut to the long locks. It's soft, almost distracting, would be if his heat in close proximity wasn't so overwhelming. It's different from his usual clinginess, hinting on something more.

"Hey.." he murmurs softly, voice kind of holding a dulled note to it, like he wasn't familiar with emoting. Then he looks up at him from under his lashes. "Will you fuck me?"

He'd expect himself to be more surprised by the question, maybe even grossed out. He _thought_ he was straight, hadn't really had an attraction to dudes in his time as an adult. But Leon was kind of different, he didn't really count. Did he? He was kind of feminine, features noticeably softer. Vincent's eyes go to those lowered lids again, the ones that were naturally downturned, kind of droopy almost. He shouldn't really, but he was hard, that much was obvious. So how straight was he really?

"Isn't that kind of sudden?" Is what he says instead, and that, well, that isn't no.

Leon's fingers drift, distractingly dancing against the back of his neck. It tickles a bit. "Would it make you feel better if I said "Make love to me?" instead? Take me nice and slow. Right, V?"

That's not what he had in mind, not really. But his face flushes and Leon smiles, and he says, "Yeah," anyway.

They don't move from his couch, Vincent lives along anyway so it's fine. But the truth is that Leon had captured him in a kiss again. It's slower this time, dragging and not as hungry. He's almost certain now that this will become his new addiction. Because everything about Leon is too much for him almost, he's so alive and honest and so—

He doesn't finish the thought, mind tapering off and sentence finished by a very audible, very real, whine. And Leon is giving him that look again, that dangerous smile that has his eyes crinkling. There's this radiant blush on his skin, flushed from arousal or maybe the alcohol. He's not certain really, but the color is painting his cheeks, his neck and spreading under the collar of his grey shirt. And then he speaks, voice impossibly smooth. "As much as like kissing you, watching you blink like a deer in the headlights—" his fingers trace idly up his arms, touch lingering over the new bandages there— "I think I'd like to ride you a touch more." And Vince short circuits just like that.

The rest is kind of a blur to him, all of it almost bordering on too much. Leon is too close, sharing is body warmth. Vincent is kissing his neck, hearing him moan real pretty. He marks him up without asking permission, but he's pretty certain that he loves it. He tosses his head back, flutters his eyes closed, and lets him do whatever he wants with his mouth. His mocha skin bruises easily, dark hickeys quickly rising to the surface. 

There's the mess of clothes being removed, unceremoniously. Leon fumbles with his jeans for a long time, but Vincent remembers him lifting his hips, sighing in what sounds like relief as his hand disappears under him. He's tucking his chin when realization dons on him. His first thought is of how good the ex-runner looks. There's sweat beading his skin, his body trembling just enough for him to notice it. His brows are pulled downward, bottom lip worried between his teeth. And it's a good look for him, really good.

"You're so beautiful," he says without thinking, palms rest on his hips and thumbing over the sharp jut of bone. There's an admiration there, adoration, maybe even love. His mind reels sharply, breath coming in a sudden inhale. Does he love Leon?

There's a hand curling against his shoulder, the pad of his thumb rubbing over his collarbone like he's trying to soothe him. "It's okay," he says like he can read Vincent's mind.

"Can you read my mind." It's a stupid question, kinda, but his filter is somewhere out the window.

Leon laughs, slow but not mocking. "I can't," he answers, glances up at him with those green eyes, "You have a very honest face, V. I really like that."

Vincent is modest enough to blush, turning bashful even if it doesn't show underneath the heated flush of his skin. So he says, "Leon.." and it sounds too much like a plea.

"I know, I know." He hums soft and catches him in a kiss again. He knows it's just a distraction, but he wants to pour his heart into it. But it's confirmed when he feels the male's touch, a whisper against his skin. Then there's this overwhelming heat, so tight he shakes and gasps into Leon's mouth. It's really good. His breath shudders out of him, and brunette exhales into his mouth as he sinks down onto his cock. His eyes are squeezed shut, expression tight. 

And then breathing out a long sound, a needy little note as he bottoms out. "Oh," he sighs, the word coming out like a whisper, " _Oh_ , that's good, Vincent, you're really good." He hasn't even started moving yet, just settled in his lap as he accommodates himself to Vince's length. His fingers dig into his shoulders, clipped nails indenting the skin. He thrums at the praise, hands curling atop Leon's motionless thighs. 

He's not sure how long that moment lasts because then he's lifting his hips and rolling them down, the initial movement a little shaky. But his eyes flutter closed and those long lashes brush his cheeks, and he can tell he's feeling good. Because these little moans are starting to slip past his lips, soft little sounds. Vincent is sure he's making similar sounds. He wants to rationalize that it's just casual sex, that he's just helping the male take the edge off. But Leon's fingers are curling into his hair and there's something painstakingly intimate about it, something Vince hopes is more than just horny drunk.

There's something so soft about fucking Leon, him so openly honest with his voice. The sounds are so pretty escaping his parted lips, the roll of his hips is smoother now but unhurried and perfect. Vincent thinks he could probably do this for hours, gradually pull him apart. He wonders how long he would last. Could he stand just being teased? Would he beg?

"Hey," Leon says, voice kinda raw. Vincent focuses, feels the hand cupping his face, thumbing over his cheekbone. Those green eyes are so tender even with his pupils obviously dilated, his heart melts. "Don't get too far away, I'm right here." He lifts himself almost entirely before dropping back down. It's an attempt to ground him, to show that this isn't a dream. It works a little too well, his hips jumping into that tightness as a reactionary action.

He's never really been the type to swear but he tucks his face against Leon's shoulder and groans. "Fuck, that's—" He's not really sure what he's trying to get out, doesn't really linger on it because the ex-runner is doing it again and suddenly his insides go real tight, fluttering around his cock.

"Yes, there— !" Leon is gasping, a needy little sound that borders on a sob. And Vincent wants to draw that sound of him until he's weeping, blissed out with pleasure.

He squeezes his thighs, grabs his attention and says, "Can I?"

And Leon's who body is trembling atop him, hips seeming to slow as he begins to rut in place, chasing that feeling that stole his breath away. It's almost as if the pleasure and the effort are clashing, overwhelming and keeping him from moving as fluidly as before. "Please—" 

So Vincent does. He takes over, easily maneuvering him to lay on his back against the couch. Leon is like putty in his hands, head dropping heavy against the pillows stuffed against the arm of the furniture. His bangs are plastered to his forehead and his legs come vice-like around his hips automatically. Vince rocks into him in turn, watching his back arch as he soundlessly cries. His throat is exposed, and he takes the time to admire the dark marks lining the column of his neck. He can't help the satisfaction that bubbles under his skin, lips turning upward.

The brunette's moans are gaining volume, a string of "Yes, yes, _yes_." Vincent is groaning low under his breath at the sight, hands his head as he fucks into the male. It's so easy, and Leon loves it, accepts every thrust of his hips. He needs him, wouldn't have kissed him otherwise. The thought makes it better. He can feel himself getting closer, the coil winding impossibly tight in the pit of his stomach.

"Me too," Leon says without prompting. His eyes are heavily lidded, green gaze seeing though him, reading him like an open book. His own cock is red and heavy against his abdomen, it's leaking and untouched. His hands are curled around Vincent's biceps, knuckles white as though he's trying to restrain himself from granting his own relief. He wonders if he can make him come undone just like this. "Just a little more," he sobs, fingers squeezing his arms, "You can cum inside me, I like it."

He won't last, not with Leon looking at him like he wants to devour him. Suddenly all that he can think about is what the male would like between his knees, pretty pink lips wrapped and stretched around his cock. It was kind of a thought that came out of nowhere, but the imagery was good. Leon probably liked sucking cock. He seemed the type, kind of needy. Vincent desperately hoped this wasn't a one-time thing, needs it not to be because he wants to kiss the brunette nice and slow, cherish him, and hold him in his arms at night when the rain is pouring hard outside.

His orgasm crashes into him suddenly, not giving him long enough to even realize he's at his limit. He feels himself spill inside, watches Leon's eyes roll back like he loves it, like it's better than the sex itself. His hips jump hard into his willing body, aftershocks having him trying to milk that intense pleasure. Leon is mumbling words, all jumbled together with a weak plea of, "Almost—" And a sharp thrust of his hips has him crumbling over the edge. His thighs become tight, holding Vincent in place as his own cock jerks against his stomach, shuddering as he cums. His hands open in a silent sound, trembling through his release.

Vincent whispers praises of, "Perfect." and, "So good." before he can stop himself, fucking Leon through his orgasm until he's weeping and pawing at his shoulders. "Too much, too much—" Overstimulation looks good on him, cheeks splotchy with tears. But Vince relents, stilling and allowing him to catch his breath before he pulls out. The brunette still whines, tucking his face against pillow he'd clutched to his head. Endearment overwhelms him, but he doesn't want to overstep. Because if this is just a fling, he doesn't think he could bear to get attached. Every moment would be painful, filled with longing.

The rise and fall of Leon's chest slows and then he's peaking at him under his lashes. If he didn't know any better Vincent would almost think he was shy. But then he's smiling, and his heart soars with a hopeful note. "Kiss me?" And he does, presses all his adoration into it and hopes that the ex-runner gets the message. He pets Vicent's hair, touch soft, and he's filled relief. He thinks he could fall in love with Leon, probably has been the entire time. 

**Author's Note:**

> peacesigns softly yeah i'm back on my indulgent garbage bullshit lmao these are my ocs and they dated pre-entity ? leon went first and then vincent and they broke up sometime between this piece and their dbd canon. i understand this has some questionable material and i in no way support these kinds of unhealthy coping mechanisms but. ,, that's just them. thanks for reading anyways fjjdksks 


End file.
